


Pilgrimage

by A (Majora)



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majora/pseuds/A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near comes back to the Church, followed by his shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilgrimage

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to tsalmaveth for beta reading this fanfiction.  
> This is a present for snow-white-sheep on tumblr. Hope you'll like it my dear.

The smell of burning lingers obtrusively in the air, the source obvious: the truck -or rather what remains of it- has not been taken care of yet. He casts a look around. A poet, perhaps, would have found a sense of beauty in the ruins, but literature had never been Gevanni’s forte. There isn’t much to say about this place anymore. He strides back to the car and opens the passenger’s door, extending his hand to help the young man from it. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t taken.

“We’re here, Near.” Gevanni feels the words are necessary, on the off chance the young man hasn’t realized. But he doubts this. Even if he seems, at times, lost in his thoughts, Near always keeps his feet on the ground. He's never been one for daydreaming. Minutes pass and Near continues to play with his hair silently. Gevanni can only guess what this silence means.

“If you’ve changed your mind, I can drive us home again. It isn’t a problem – there’s not much to see, regardless.” Gevanni wonders idly why he had chosen the word ‘home’ when neither have such a luxury.

“No, thank you. I just need a minute.”

Gevanni nods and takes a step back, leaving the door open. He is breathing with difficulty, wishing Near would make up his mind quickly and get over with it. Despite his respect for his boss, Gevanni cannot fathom the purpose this grim escapade serves. He does not dare to ask. 

At last, Near steps out of the car as if in a rush to stand awkwardly beside him. Gevanni hesitates, the consideration of placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him through the ruins immediate, though he knows better than this. Near is not one for physical contact. A gesture intended for comfort could be misconstrued for intrusion, and the last thing Gevanni needs now is to make Near uncomfortable. This is the first time he has been so close to Near. Standing like this, they’re almost touching.

The former FBI agent closes the door and leads the way, turning around with discretion from time to time to ensure that Near is still following him and hasn’t stumbled in the ruins. He stops in front of the remains of the truck. Near needs no explanation. He never does.

Gevanni sighs nervously. He wishes there was something he could say to alleviate the tension in the atmosphere, that the right words would come and he could cast a sort of magic spell. Near takes his time to circle around the carcass of the burnt vehicle as Gevanni stands there, fidgeting, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

What does the young man hope to find, anyway? Kira’s followers came long before they did. The body had been removed, every piece of evidence they could have found had been picked up. Everything about what happened there is crystal clear. They won’t understand what went through Keehl’s mind during his last moments just from observing this piece of junk.

Gevanni stiffens and wonders why Near insists on inflicting this on himself. In Gevanni’s mind, everything is clear. Only one man is to blame for what happened to Keehl. He wishes he could gather the courage to tell his boss there is nothing he should feel guilty about, but the words remain trapped in his throat. Speaking to Near had always been difficult, and he wonders how Rester and Lidner were always so casual about it. Near isn’t haughty or disagreeable; conversely, he states his ideas frankly, firmly, always politely. He never screams, he never frowns. 

He isn’t standing high above other people the way Yagami believed he had the right to. And yet, Near is so far away from most people. A dark chuckle escapes Gevanni’s lips and he lifts his head, checking if Near heard him. 

 

The young man is nowhere.

 

A rush of terror strikes him and he’s sweating even though he perfectly knows the young man cannot have gone far. He steps quickly toward the truck he carefully stayed away from. Cold sweat runs on his forehead and he curses himself. Though there is no danger here, worry is in his nature, and he struggles to rationalize the situation. He used to control himself much better, he had been trained to face and process much harder events; yet his heart is pounding madly in his chest, his mind is poisoned by guilt and morbid scenarii.

He eventually spots the ghostly figure. Near is sitting in the driver’s seat, his hands on the wheel, looking straight ahead. 

Gevanni looks at him as though he sees him for the first time, and in a way, he does. Near isn’t crying or shaking, and nothing in his posture betrays his despair. But Gevanni knows. His robot lay abandoned on the ground and his hands are stained with ash and only God knows what else. His clothes, always pure white, are dirty. He says nothing and just remains there, motionless and silent amidst the filth.

“I’m sorry.”

Near doesn’t turn. If he heard Gevanni, he shows no sign of it. Gevanni bites his lip. He never once felt so powerless as now and images of Keehl, Yagami, Mikami, Takada, and Kira’s followers defile through his mind. He wants to blame someone for this, curse a name and relieve Near of the guilt that seems to plague him. Deep down, he knows there is no escape to this. It would be so easy if there was a villain in this story, but there are only culprits and they all feel too human, even the darkest ones, to be blamed as the responsibility of this mess. In a sense, everyone had their share of responsibility, and Keehl’s death was his choice. The right choice.

Perhaps Near isn’t wrong to shoulder responsibility rather than hiding beside the myth of the pure, shining hero who defeated the dragons. It doesn’t feel right to Gevanni, and he’s not sure of Near’s thoughts for a moment, but it feels reasonable. 

“What do you apologize for, Agent Loud?”

Gevanni lifts his face and is taken aback by the intensity of Near’s eyes. He knocks it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact, and he feels a rush of inexplicable relief knowing that Near tries for him. The least he can to in return is to be honest, even if it costs him his pride. 

“It isn’t rational. I’m sorry you have to go through this – that’s all.”

Near drops his gaze to his hands and Gevanni clears his throat. Near has probably noticed that he tends to play with his hands when nervous. That's fine. Opening up fully may be the only way to land on Near’s planet and hope to stay a little while. 

Gevanni bends down, lifts Near’s toy from its place in the soot, and wipes it on his jacket –he has too many of them anyway- before handing it back to him.

“Near… Let’s go home.”

Slowly, he nods, picking up the robot. This time, Near takes his hand.


End file.
